Stories at the Door

by Jan Andrews

  “I’m in need of some matches to light a fire, so my brothers and I can cook our supper,” the oldest brother said.

  “I’ll give you your matches if you’ll sing me a song,” the farmer replied.

  The oldest brother didn’t know any songs. He argued a bit, but he could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. He had to go back empty-handed. His brothers weren’t very happy about it.

  “Let me try. I’m sure I can get some matches,” the second brother declared.

  He went Off running as well. The farmer was on the back porch by that time; he was taking his boots off. His work was finished.

  “I’m in need of some matches to light a fire, so my brothers and I can cook our supper,” the second brother announced.

  “I heard about that,” the farmer said. “I’ll be happy to give you your matches if you’ll do me a dance.”

  “I don’t know any dances.”

  “That’s it then, isn’t it?” said the farmer.

  It was, too. The second brother had to come back to the camp empty-handed just like the first.

  “I guess it’s up to me,” Jack said.

  Not that he was in that much of a hurry. He set Off at kind of a saunter. The farmer was in his kitchen. He was sitting in his rocking chair by the stove.

  “Is there no end to you fellows?” he ranted.

  “I’m the youngest; I’m the last,” Jack said.

  “Youngest or not, I suppose you’re wanting matches?”

  “It’s so we can cook our supper.”

  “Supper or not, I believe one good turn deserves another.”

  “So my brothers have told me.”

  “Did the oldest say I asked him for a song?”

  “He did, but I’m not much of a singer.”

  “Did the second say I asked him for a dance?”

  “He did, but I don’t dance, either.”

  “So why are you bothering me?”

  “I thought maybe you’d like a story.”

  “Oh!” said the farmer, “A story! Well, maybe I would.”

  He pulled the rocking chair in closer. He put his feet up on a stool.

  “Here’s how it is,” Jack told him. “This story I have — it’s a good one. But it won’t bear arguing with. If you should argue with it — at any point — I’ll consider my part of the deal’s over. I’ll up and take the matches, whether you want to give them to me or not.”

  The farmer lit his pipe.

  “Are you ready?” Jack asked him.

  “I am,” the farmer replied.

  “Here’s the way of it then,” said Jack. “When I was younger still, I used to live north of here. I used to live in the woods. I had a horse. I used it for hauling logs. So on this one day, I was taking it to work with me.”

  “It’s what I’d expect,” the farmer said.

  “Maybe you would,” said Jack. “But here’s what happened. I had my ax. I’d fixed it behind me, to my belt.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “The horse got into trotting. The ax started bumping and banging all about. The ax bumped so hard it thunked the horse’s rear end off. The tail end went one way. The head end went another. The head end was where I was riding. I kept on going.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “Are you ready for more then?”

  “Of course, I am.”

  “I rode the horse’s front end for a year or so. By that time, I’d come down south here to these parts. I was traveling along, looking at the scenery. I saw my horse’s rear end in a field. I recognized that rear end from the markings.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “Are you ready for more then?”

  “Of course, I am.”

  “I wanted the two parts together. I got myself some thread. I stitched the front end and the rear end back the way they were supposed to be. I went Off as right as rain. I wasn’t very happy, though. The prairies were strange to me. I was pining for a glimpse of a tree. All of a sudden, I came upon one. It was the tallest tree I’d ever seen. I couldn’t help myself. I thought a tree like that should be climbed.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “Are you ready for more then?”

  “Of course, I am.”

  “I got to the top of the tree. I found out I was in a whole new world. The thing that struck me was that flies were worth a stack of money; cattle weren’t worth very much. I reckoned I’d come back down and collect myself some flies.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “Are you ready for more then?”

  “Of course, I am.”

  “I found the flies in a barn.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “I put the flies in a sack. I carried the sack up. I sold the flies and I bought some cattle. I bought a whole great herd. I thought I’d made my fortune. I’ve never been so excited. The trouble was, by the time I got to where the top of the tree should have been, it wasn’t there any more. Someone had chopped right through the trunk. I wanted to go home.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “Are you ready for more then?”

  “Of course, I am.”

  “I had to think about it. But I was desperate. I killed my cattle, right there on the spot. I used their hides to make a strap. The strap worked fine. I was sliding down it nicely. Only it wasn’t long enough. When I got to the end of it I was still up in the air. I’d be there to this day, if a woman hadn’t come out of her house and started husking corn. She was trying to throw the husks on a pile, but the wind was too strong for her. The wind kept carrying the husks up there to me. I reached out and I grabbed as many as I could manage. I used the husks to make a rope. I’d have been safe and sound in minutes, only the wind was blowing even harder.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “Are you ready for more then?”

  “Of course, I am.”

  “The rope was swinging and swaying. With all the swaying it broke. Down I came. There was a swamp beneath me — a slough. I fell right into it. I was up to my neck in water. I wasn’t the only one in the swamp. A duck was there as well.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “The duck was searching for a place to build her nest. She chose my hair. She laid her eggs, even. The eggs were just about to be hatching. A coyote saw the nest and he swam out. He scared the duck off; he swallowed the eggs down. The coyote was my chance. I grabbed his tail. I hollered to scare him. He was so frightened, he took off. Lucky he did. He pulled me out. I’m telling you, I looked dreadful.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “I had swamp weeds round my ears. I had mud all over me. My clothes were making puddles. What was I to do, though? I walked and walked till I got to a road. I was going along the road when I saw this other fellow coming toward me. He was worse Off than I was. He looked like his horse had bucked him in the muck heap and rolled on top of him. He smelled like you can’t imagine.”

  “It’s what I’d expect.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Seeing as how, when I look at you, I know that you were him.”

  The farmer slammed down his pipe. He banged on the table.

  “It couldn’t have been me,” he burst out.

  Jack said nothing. The farmer jumped up. His face went red. His eyes started bulging.

  “I’d die before I’d be seen in such a state,” he thundered.

  “Maybe you would and maybe you wouldn’t,” said Jack. “Either way, you’re arguing with my story. Either way, I get my matches so my brothers and I can light our fire.”

  Jack took the matches; he was gone. His brothers were pleased to see him, that’s for certain. The three of them got on with their cooking. They had a good supper and they had good hunting in the morning. Maybe if the farmer had been better to them, they might have given him a duck or two. As it was, they didn’t have to bother. They just went home.

  What’s that at the door?<
br />
  It’s a story! It isn’t a bull or a cow!

  It’s traveled a long way to see us.

  It’s mopping its sweaty, hot brow.

  It just might be sent by a fairy.

  It just might have come from the sea.

  It just might be bringing some magic.

  Some magic for you and for me.

  This story’s about the meanest miser there’s ever been in all the country’s history. I hardly need to tell you when it happened. It happened once upon a time — the time that wasn’t my time or your time, but has to have been his time, somewhere back there in the dim and distant past.

  The miser lived in a beautiful place by a wide and flowing river with ships sailing on it. He was called the Master, because he owned everything as far as anyone could go. He had more money than he knew what to do with, but all he ever thought about was how to get more.

  The Master had a lot of servants. One of those servants was called Jane. Jane had a lowly job in the kitchen. She had to wash pile upon pile of dishes; she had to scrub floors on her hands and knees; she had to carry out the cinders. Still, she was always smiling. The only thing she ever grumbled about was her hair. It was so curly it kept springing out from under her servant’s cap. The cook was always yelling at her to pin her hair back up.

  The Master didn’t know about Jane. The Master didn’t know about any of his servants. Not really. All he cared about was getting more work out of them. A day came when he called them together in the yard so he could explain to them how they were going to have to toil away for even longer hours, and get even less for themselves in wages.

  Jane was there, of course. She had to be.

  “I want servants who are tireless,” the Master announced.

  There was a great big clap of thunder. An enormous Genie appeared out of a cloud. The Genie stood before the Master, bowing.

  “I am tireless and I am yours to command,” the Genie said.

  The Master looked like he might dance with joy. The Genie bowed lower.

  “I will do anything you wish, but there is one thing you must know about me. I have to be kept working. If I am left idle — even for a moment — I shall start to devour you from head to foot.”

  The Master was so busy thinking of all he could get done, he hardly listened to the last part. The servants were so worried about how the Genie was going to take their jobs away, they weren’t listening properly, either. Jane paid attention.

  I’ll remember that, she thought.

  “You can start by building me a new barn,” the Master told the Genie.

  The Genie went to work. The servants watched in amazement. The Genie could hardly be seen he was moving so quickly. In less than an hour, the barn was finished. The Master looked even happier. He looked happier than he’d ever done in his whole life.

  “There’s a new parcel of land I want cleared,” he told the Genie. “I’ll ride with you in my carriage to show you where it is.”

  The Genie set off, two fields at a stride. The Master could hardly keep up to him.

  “That Genie will be the end of us,” the servants said.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure,” said Jane.

  At evening, the Master came back. The Genie had cleared the new parcel of land. He’d also repaired all the fences and widened all the ditches. The Master set him to building another wing onto the house.

  By morning, the Genie had the new wing ready. The Master sent him out to dig a lake. The job would have taken the servants months. The Genie had it done by lunchtime. The servants were even more worried. They started trying to figure out how the Genie might be got rid of.

  “Better to spend your time imagining what it would be like to have the Genie work for us,” said Jane.

  Now that she’d put the idea into their heads, the servants couldn’t stop themselves imagining. After all, the houses the Master gave them to live in were all so tumbledown.

  “I’d have the Genie fix my roof so it didn’t leak!” said the head gardener.

  “I’d have the Genie mend my walls so they weren’t falling into pieces,” said the butler.

  “I’d have the Genie repair the holes in my floors and set my doors back on their hinges,” said the cook.

  The Genie went on following the Master’s instructions. He rounded up the sheep. He sheared them. He took the wool to the mill. He got the machines at the mill running. He carded the wool. He spun it and wove it.

  He straightened the stream so it would flow faster. He trimmed the hedges in the gardens. He mowed the wide, green lawns. He planted saplings for a new forest. He washed the Master’s windows. He washed his whole house.

  That was all finished by the end of the second day. The servants, whose jobs the Genie was doing, were getting hungry. They weren’t being paid.

  “You keep imagining anyway,” Jane told them. “You keep on thinking what that Genie might do for you.”

  The Master gave his orders. The Genie worked through the second night. He cleaned the cowsheds and built a couple of extra ones for good measure. He sluiced down the pig sties. He polished the horses’ coats. He plowed the fields of summer fallow. He cleaned the paths. He weeded the vegetables. He built two new docks. He unloaded a boat that had brought supplies.

  In the morning, the servants noticed the Master wasn’t looking so happy. There were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept a wink.

  “You remember what’s going to happen to the Master if the Genie isn’t kept working?” Jane asked them.

  All of a sudden, the servants did. When the orchard man came hurrying to tell them the Genie was picking apples and pears that were still green, it occurred to them maybe the Master was running out of ideas.

  The Genie was getting bigger too. He was working faster and faster. The Master was looking more and more terrified. By evening, while the Genie was scything a field that didn’t need scything because the hay hadn’t grown above an inch or so, the Master was trembling. The Master was tearing out his hair. The Master was pacing backward and forward, muttering. The servants had never seen anything like it.

  “Now’s our chance,” Jane said.

  The servants were still nervous. They decided the head gardener should go first.

  “Master, Master, my roof is leaking,” the head gardener pleaded.

  To the servants’ surprise, the Master almost kissed him. The servants sent the butler at a run.

  “Master, Master, my walls are falling over,” the butler cried out.

  The Master almost gave him a hug. The cook couldn’t see any further reason for delaying.

  “Master, Master, my floor has holes! My doors are off their hinges,” she almost shouted.

  The Master looked as if he might kneel down at her feet. Before the night was out, the Genie had made every single one of the servants’ homes more comfortable than they could have dreamed.

  The shepherd asked for a school. The Master had the Genie build it. The gardener’s boy wanted everyone’s wood chopped for the winter. The Master had the Genie do that. Someone else thought of how the chimneys needed sweeping; how the potholes should be filled in on the paths. The chambermaid decided she’d like a park with a fountain and shade trees to walk amongst on summer evenings. The forester’s son wanted a swimming hole. The coachman thought they could all of them do with their houses that were now so comfortable, made a little bigger, so they’d have more room.

  The best of it was that every time the servants went to the Master, he begged them to think of more and more and MORE. He thanked them for their efforts. He wept tears of gratitude. He praised people. The servants thought they’d died and gone to heaven. No one could ever remember the Master praising anyone. Praising people wasn’t what the Master did.

  Still, after two more days, the servants were exhausted. The hammering and banging and changing things was keeping them awake at night as well. Try as they might, they couldn’t think of anything else they wanted.

  The Genie wasn’
t as big as a house, or even two houses. The Genie was as big as a village. He looked like he wouldn’t stop with the Master. He’d devour everyone and everything in sight.

  The Master wasn’t the only one quaking in fear and horror. The servants were as well.

  “You’re sure you’ve got everything you wanted?” Jane asked them.

  “We’ve got more than we wanted,” the servants replied.

  “My turn,” Jane said.

  She went to the Master while he had the Genie trying to shear the sheep again.

  “Would you like to see the Genie gone?” she asked.

  “I’d give anything to see the Genie gone,” the Master answered.

  “I can tell you how to do it,” Jane said. “But you’ll have to promise you’ll go on treating us the way you should do.”

  “I promise! I promise!” the Master burst out.

  “There won’t be any forgetting?”

  “There won’t! There won’t!”

  Jane sat herself down. Jane made herself comfortable. Jane took Off her servant’s cap. She pulled one of the hairs from off the top of her head.

  “My curls keep getting me into trouble,” she told the Master. “I’ve always thought if I could get just one hair straightened I’d be better off. I’ve tried to do it myself, but I can’t seem to manage it.”

  “The Genie will do it in an instant.”

  “You must tell him not to harm it.”

  “I’ll be devoured for certain.”

  “It’s worth a try,” said Jane.

  The Genie was striding back. He was carrying the little bit of wool he’d managed to gather. The sky was darkening with his approach. The Master was desperate. One instant to go on living seemed better than no instants. The Master took Jane’s hair and held it out.

  “You’re to straighten this hair and you’re not to harm it,” the Master murmured.

  The Genie looked at the Master as if he was considering what kind of a meal he’d make. The Genie took the hair between his two great hands. The Genie licked his lips.